


Watching Them

by abigail89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity, The Quidditch Pitch: Three of Hearts, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-06
Updated: 2008-10-06
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:59:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10788096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: Tonks watches.





	Watching Them

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Written for the 2007 harry_holidays fest.

I watch them. Not that I have anything else to do with myself all day long. I reckon I could float to another house, even me mum’s house and keep an eye on Teddy. But she wasn’t so keen on that. ‘Twas bad enough I disappointed her when I was alive; me being around full time as a ghost, reminding her of me “Poor decision! What WERE you thinking, Nymphadora, marrying a werewolf, marrying in the middle of a war, marrying a man you hardly know.” Anyway, I heard enough when I was alive. Didn’t need to keep on hearing it.  
  
Anyways, I took up Harry’s invitation to hang around Sirius’s old place. Actually, I should be calling it Harry’s place, since he owns it now. It really is the perfect place for a ghost. It’s still a bit creepy, though Harry, Hermione and Ron have done a good job of getting rid of some of the gloominess. They kept the third floor really dark for me.   
  
I’m a good ghost, I think. I don’t do that rattlin’ chains thing. Dickens didn’t know what he was doing, writing that. Can’t pick anything up. It falls right through me fingers. I don’t sneak up on them. Too much. Not on purpose, anyways. Despite what they say. I nearly scared the hell out of Harry one morning. He was coming out of the loo and he ran right into me—actually, _through me_ would be a better way of puttin’ it. I can’t help when I snooze I just sort of end up wherever the wind takes me. Not my fault someone left a window open and I ended up on the landing outside their bedrooms. Just the way it goes. Besides, it was quite a shock to me to wake up and have some guy walking through me own—well, not body. Mist. Incorporeal self. Whatever.  
  
I don’t moan. I don’t yell, “Boo!” I don’t do none of that. So, I watch.  
  
I watch Harry get ready to go off for training to be an Auror. He’s a good one. He studies hard. He reads a lot. He works long hours. He comes home absolutely knackered.  
  
I watch Ron pick up Harry’s feet and place them on the sofa when Harry topples over for a nap before dinner after a really hard day. He tenderly removes Harry’s glasses, placing them carefully on the end table, and covers him with the blanket Molly knitted for him. He sometimes pats Harry’s wild hair. I watch him watching Harry, the expression on his face one of devotion and love and fierce protection. He’s proud of Harry. He really is.  
  
I watch Hermione come home after a long day at university, arms loaded with books and her magical beaded bag stuffed to the breaking point hanging off her back. Harry and Ron rush to help her, taking the books from her and fussing that she shouldn’t try to carry so much, it’ll hurt her back. She gives Ron a kiss and then Harry. As she continues talking about her day, the boys will often look at each other, touching their lips where she has kissed them both, awed, or maybe just really pleased that she would think to kiss them.  
  
I watch Harry and Ron fixing dinner for them all, Hermione still going on and on about what she’s learned, what she’s reading, what she’s writing. They’ll nod and make noises like, “Oh yeah? That’s cool,” or “That’s interesting, Hermione”. And she’ll keep on talking, not noticing the sly grins they give each other, or Ron’s eye roll, or Harry’s indulgent smile that belies the pride he feels.  
  
I watch them when they settle in for the night. For young adults, they don’t have much of a social life. Hermione studies. Harry reads. Ron listens to the wireless and works on the shop’s latest creation. Sometimes they’ll play chess or Exploding Snap which always makes Hermione tell them to grow up. And that always makes them grab her, and she’ll squeal, and they pull her out of her chair, and they usually end up in a heap on the sofa, laughing.  
  
And then that’s when things change. Ron and Hermione end up kissing and Harry gets up, claiming he’s tired and wants to shower and turn in. So he leaves. After a few minutes, Hermione pushes Ron off her, gently, and says she needs to study. Ron, pouting, says he needs to check on something. And he’ll go upstairs to his room, undress, and silently cross the hall to the bathroom, joining Harry in the shower.  
  
I can’t watch that.   
  
And then afterwards they’ll leave the bathroom, steam escaping, bodies still glistening, and creep across to Ron’s room. A bed squeaks, loudly. Sometimes a headboard bangs up against the wall. Harry moans. Ron grunts. Ron usually will say, “Fuck, Harry, ‘s good.” And Harry will say over and over, “Ron. Ron. Ron.” Sometimes he’ll say, “Harder!” but that’s when the headboard bangs.  
  
I hear it, but I can’t watch that.  
  
Later, Hermione goes upstairs, and she runs a bath. She takes her time, soaking away all her tension, and then she goes to her room and slides into bed.  
  
After a little while, Harry wakes up, leaves his room and goes to join Hermione in her bed. I can’t watch that, but I can hear them. They’re much quieter than he and Ron. They whisper and he makes her come with a quietly ecstatic, “Oh God yes!”  
  
In the morning, Harry and Hermione are up at the crack of dawn. Harry is a little slower to awaken, but Hermione can’t wait to go back to university, another day of learning and reading. Harry waits for her to leave before he gets up and shuffles back across the hall to Ron’s room, where I always hear, “Budge over,” and the bed squeaks, and about ten minutes later I hear Ron grunting and Harry exclaiming, and then silence. Then, after a time, Harry emerges, dressed in Auror’s robes, a deep grin on his face.  
  
I can’t watch it. Not because I’m embarrassed or disapproving or even turned on because, hey, I’m a ghost, and none of _that_ works once you don’t have a body. I can’t watch because it’s not complete.   
  
It’s not that I’m not happy Harry is getting it. Merlin knows the boy deserves it, needs it. Needs them. Both of them. And it’s not that Ron is upset as much as he doesn’t know. It’s not that Harry and Hermione are _cheating_ on Ron as much as Ron hasn’t made the leap from Harry’s bed to Hermione’s bed to a bed with all three of them in it.  
  
Because what Harry doesn’t know is that Ron is in Hermione’s bed after Harry and Hermione have left for the day, smelling the pillows and sheets, drenched in the odour of their lovemaking. And he comes hard as his face is buried in the bedding, as he adds his own scent to theirs. I watch him carefully, looking for signs of disgust or anger or jealousy. But all I can see is satiation and satisfaction.  
  
I’m positive Hermione knows.  
  
Question is: what is she waiting for?  
  
*~*  
  
The answer: Harry.  
  
Now, I was an Auror, and a good one at that. I took a lot of pride in my abilities. However, I have to admit I wasn’t the best observer. Ability to go undercover—aces. Take a Death Eater on—well, I was good until running up against Bellatrix. Bitch. Plan a raid—great. But observation? Okay, I wasn’t the best. That’s why Mad-Eye was my partner.   
  
So, I was caught off-guard when it happened:  
  
It is a typical night. Harry comes home, falls asleep on the sofa. Ron tucks his mum’s knitted blanket round him, and goes to the kitchen to start supper. Hermione comes home, banging the front door closed. Harry gets up, Ron comes in from the kitchen and they help her unload her books. They kiss. They chat. They fix supper. She talks. They snigger. They eat. They clean up, all the while, chatting and joshing around and being them.  
  
Good so far.  
  
Then, they settle in for the night in the parlor--Hermione at the desk, Harry and Ron playing wizard chess. Ron beats Harry—no surprise there. But when Harry stands up to stretch, instead of saying, “I'm going to take a shower,” he says, “but I think I fancy a bath. Come with me?”  
  
And Ron and Hermione both look at him.  
  
“What?” Ron says.  
  
“Excuse me?” Hermione asks.  
  
Harry takes a deep breath. “I said, come take a bath with me?”  
  
Ron and Hermione look at each other, realization dawning on their faces. They may be the ones “officially” in a relationship. They may be the “romantic face” of their friendly trio. But now it finally crashes in on them that what’s been going on is that their love for each other has been channeled most ardently through Harry’s appetite for both of them. They look at him again. Raw passion is etched on his face, his hands tremble as he holds them out to them both.  
  
Suddenly, Harry calls out, “You know, Tonks, don’t you?” He swallows hard. “You’ve seen us, haven’t you? You know about me and Ron. You know about me and—Hermione. Don’t you, Tonks?”  
  
I float down from my usual place behind the drapes. “What do you want me to say, Harry?”  
  
“You see us, Tonks. You see how we walk around each other, how I fuck Ron—“  
  
“You’re fucking Ron?” Hermione interjects.  
  
I’m shocked again. “You mean, you didn’t know?” I ask her.  
  
“NO! I didn’t.” She’s—indignant? Shocked? Delighted? It’s hard to tell.  
  
He forges ahead. “Ron, you know I’ve been fucking Hermione.”  
  
Ron looks at the floor. “Yeah, I do.”  
  
Hermione and I look at each other. “You know?” she says. Again, I’m taken aback.  
  
He hedges. “Um…”  
  
Harry nods. “Ron, why haven’t you said anything? I know you’ve been in Hermione’s bed. I can smell you.”  
  
“What?” Hermione asks.  
  
Harry smiles. “I just did the course on detecting odours. My nose has always been sort of keen. Every human being has a unique scent. It isn’t b.o.; it’s deeper than that. It’s the scent that remains on our pillows, in our clothing, on the back of our necks. I-I love how you both smell, but I noticed the other night that there was something more in your bed, Hermione, something very familiar. And when I was with Ron last night, I realized what it was, who it was.”  
  
“And you think we should all fuck—God, I hate that word!” Hermione exclaims, coming to him. “You think we should be together, all three of us?”  
  
He pulls her to him. “Yes.” He kisses her temple, and turns to Ron, holding out his hand again. “Ron? What d’you think?”  
  
I watch Ron closely. He’s standing still, but then he comes to them, wrapping his long arms about them all. “I think it’s brilliant.”  
  
Harry grins and leans in, kissing Ron tenderly. Hermione watches them avidly, drinking in the sight of two boys kissing, her boys. “Fuck, that’s hot,” she says.  
  
That makes them laugh. I let go a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. If I were alive, that is.  
  
Watching them kiss, sloppily at first, makes me ache to be alive. Watching them explore their love recalls the love I shared with Remus, which makes me want to weep. Watching them finally admit they are meant to be with each other in this seemingly unorthodox way fills me with warmth. Or what passes for warmth.  
  
They make their way up the stairs, clumsy and halting and full of laughter. They bypass the bath, despite Harry’s earlier declaration and fall into his large bed.  
  
I watch them, together, in an eternal circle. I hear them, the sounds of their lovemaking. All of a sudden I realize I don’t need to watch over them because they have each other.  
  
And I float away.

*~* 


End file.
